Suledin
by Kyouningyou
Summary: Teaser: In a rescue attempt gone awry, Mahariel finds himself imprisoned by the Magister Danarius. During his escape he encounters an apprentice, demons and shades, and a rather annoyed elf with glowing tattoos and a brooding disposition.


Danarius's cells were not well lit, but the torches spaced evenly along the weathered stone walls, though dim, allowed barely enough light by which Fenris could study the stranger's new, alien features. The man sitting in the cage across from him, locked behind lyrium-infused bars, did not look like any elf Fenris had ever seen. Most of the elven slaves had pale skin from lifetimes spent indoors serving their masters, but the captive's was copper-colored, the sun having made its mark over years of exposure. His jet black hair, unlike the short, neat styles of the slaves, fell in tangled waves over his shoulders, framing his angular features. Tribal tattoos lined his high cheekbones and narrow chin and spread out over his brow. Fenris knew of only one other elf with bodily markings of any kind; himself.

He did not dress like the other elves either. An armored elf in Tevinter was… unthinkable, save for the few slaves that served as bodyguards or assassins for their masters, but this one clearly wore an intricately made chainmail – links worked into the shapes of individual leaves – beneath sleeveless black leathers covered in belt links and small pockets. The chainmail beneath covered his neck and shoulder, but its main purpose seemed to be to protect the torso, adding another layer of defense beneath the leather. The captive's right arm was left bare, revealing more tribal tattoos starting from his shoulder and tracing halfway down to his elbow. His left arm was covered by a leather sleeve, with intricate stitchings of wolves running down the length. Fenris stared at Danarius's newest captive, sitting cross-legged in the back of his cell, hands in his lap, leaning casually against the wall without any look of worry or concern on his face. Fenris stood against the wall opposite the prisoner's cell, staring at the other man intently, waiting for some inevitable escape attempt.

Though he had taken the intruder's fine, and undoubtedly ancient, longbow and the pair of slender, curved blades once worn at his side, Danarius had not bothered to search the prisoner for any hidden knives, lock picks, or daggers, despite the fact that he had killed seven men – including one aspiring apprentice – before being apprehended. Fenris knew this was because of his master's faith in his enchanted cell, warded with every kind of protective spell and magical seal the magister saw fit to place, but still he got the distinct impression that Danarius was waiting for something. Maybe he thought the intruder would escape his cell? It would explain, certainly, why he had placed his favored slave and bodyguard to watch him, though already heavily incarcerated. Perhaps Danarius even planned to have the two engage in battle. Did the mage plan to replace him? With a faint growl Fenris resolved that – should the strange intruder somehow escape – he would cleave the man in two before he'd taken a single step out of his cell. He could not be replaced; to be replaced was to be killed, and nothing was worse than death. Fenris had to keep telling himself that, or else simply wither away.

Hours had passed and still the prisoner said nothing, simply staring at Fenris intently as he was being stared at in turn. Fenris studied those hazel eyes, flecked with gold, and found himself wondering what was going on behind them. What had possessed this solitary elf to invade a magistrate's home, unaided, without even the advantage of magic? How had he gotten so far into the complex – four stories and over two-hundred rooms – without being caught? What was he seeking that was so important that he easily overlooked the coins, gems, and small, but priceless magical artifacts Danarius considered petty enough to leave lying about unguarded? And why, even alone and caged, did he not show even the slightest hint of fear?

The sound of clipped footsteps upon the cold, stone floor broke Fenris's line of thought. The steps were haughty, impatient, and Fenris did not need to turn his head to look to see who it was. Hadrianna came to a stop in front of the cell, arms crossed, hips tilted to the side, and lips undoubtedly twisted into a gloating smirk. As usual the apprentice magister had dressed in a clean, overly ornate violet robe, gold arcane symbols stitched with a steady hand into the sleeves, across her waist and down her back. She wore a silk headdress over her long dark hair and thick layers of make up over her eyes, cheeks and lips. For all she dressed herself up, however, Hadrianna was extraordinarily plain-looking. Her skin was lightly tanned, not the pale complexion the Tevinters found attractive and while she was not fat she would never have the petite frame considered ideal for a woman. Her face was long, equine, and her singular attractive feature, her bright, clear blue eyes, were tainted by the gleam of cruelty they so often held.

"So it's true, a thief managed to break in," Hadrianna mused aloud, a hint of amusement in her voice. Though he loathed her presence, Fenris was privately grateful Hadrianna had chosen the nameless elf to make a target of today, and not him. Of course, as soon as he thought that she had to ruin it by turning to face him and saying, "You haven't been doing your job very well, slave."

Fenris allowed no reaction to show on his face, but he did notice the slight twitch in the prisoner's eye when that word escaped Hadrianna's lips. The apprentice turned her back on Fenris once more – secure in the knowledge that the white-haired elf could take no action against her – and stared at the prisoner, stroking her chin in a thoughtful gesture. "Ser Danarius said you'd managed to kill six of his elite guard. Along with poor Roe. Tell me knife-ears, is this true?"

The prisoner said nothing, but the look in his eyes had changed. Before he had seemed calm, almost lazy, but now there was something dark in his eyes; something dangerous. Fenris wondered if Hadrianna saw this, but realized that even if she did she would be too arrogant to care. After all, what could one knife-ear do when he was on one side of a set of bars and she on the other? Hadrianna took the silence as a sign of weakness.

"Too afraid to speak knife-ears? Don't worry; I won't do anything to you – yet. Danarius says he has plans for you." She stopped and turned to Fenris. "Looking forward to having a new friend around soon? Another freak elf?"

A low, dry chuckle cut off Hadrianna's line of speech and both she and Fenris stared at the prisoner expectantly. With an almost pleasant smile, the prisoner stared directly into Hadrianna's eyes – an insolent gesture, for an elf in Tevinter – and said, "_Ma emma harel,_ _shemlen_."

The voice was slightly rough, possibly from disuse, but also pleasing to the ear in its own way. Fenris did not recognize the language, but the tone left little room for misunderstanding. He might have imagined the shiver that worked its way down Hadrianna's spine, but he did not think this was the case. Still, Hadrianna's pride would not let her back down. She should have just walked away, that would have been the smart thing, but in her arrogance she reached into the purse at her waist and pulled out an ornate silver key – the enchanted counterpart to the lock on the cell door before her.

"You can talk brave all you want, knife-ears. In the end you're still trapped in there and this," she dangled the key teasingly just out of arm's reach of the bars, "is the only thing that will open the door. Perhaps you think you can overpower Danarius when he eventually comes for you? You'd be wrong. He'll paralyze you first, and then have some more slaves drag you to the labs. If he's in a generous mood he might let them play with you first. I bet they'd like that. You have a pretty face." She gave a wry smile. "Danarius is fond of pretty things."

"Hadrianna," Fenris snapped, effectively silencing her. Hadrianna jumped, turning to face him. Fenris had surprised himself, using her first name like that, and in such a bold tone too, but he saw the way the prisoner was watching her, waiting for the beginnings of a mistake. The magister's apprentice would not notice, clueless thing she was, and Fenris did not intend to let her mistake become his problem. "You should leave now." He phrased it as a suggestion, but they both knew it was a command, and Hadrianna merely smirked at his gall.

"What, don't tell me this little thing has you frightened," she teased, leaning carelessly against the bars of the cell. Without a noise the prisoner rose to his feet. Hadrianna continued to talk; unaware of the fact that Fenris was ignoring her in favor of watching the prisoner over her shoulder. "Or are you more feeling protective of him? Have you- mph!?"

Whatever Hadrianna had wanted to say next was lost as one strong, calloused hand clamped over her mouth and another came to rest at her throat, clutching a dagger. "_Fen'Harel_ take you." With a smooth stroke the prisoner slit her throat; Fenris watched impassively as her body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Quickly the prisoner dropped to his knees, hand shooting out between the bars to grab the key as it fell from her lifeless grasp before Fenris could step forward to claim it. Fenris watched the prisoner undo the lock on the cell with a wary eye, already readying his own blade. The other elf also regarded him, half amused, half annoyed. Suddenly Fenris realized what it was that set this man so far apart from any other elf he'd yet to meet. The only other elves Fenris had ever met were slaves, broken to their masters' wills, beaten, helpless. Even those who carried themselves with some amount of dignity carried with them their invisible chains. This man, this elf, wore no such chains even inside his lyrium-lined cell. He was a wild creature, not a domesticated beast like those serving the Tevinter magisters.

The prisoner regarded Fenris with a wary eye, not unlike that of an animal meeting a human for the first time. For a moment they simply stared at each other, not moving, and then the prisoner took a step towards the exit. Fenris's arm moved, swinging the sword to block the man's path rather than to kill him. For a brief moment the prisoner looked surprised, and then annoyed. He glared at Fenris out of the corner of his eye, eyes seeming to glitter even in the dim lighting.

"Get out of my way, _elvhen'alas_; I have no patience for the likes of you." Of the two Fenris was taller and clearly more muscular. Still the smaller elf spoke to him that way, and without a hint of fear in his voice or eyes? Fenris was impressed. He still had to kill the smaller elf, but he respected him nonetheless.

"My orders were to prevent your escape by any means necessary. If that means your death, then so be it."

The prisoner – prisoner-no-more, as it were – narrowed his eyes just a bit, but before he could say anything in response he was forced to leap back, as Fenris suddenly swung the sword forward. His blade, made of polished black metal and so large that even a strong human would require two hands to wield it, missed the other elf's chest by only a fraction of an inch. A large blade like his could only really be used two ways – swing horizontally or swing vertically. The space he was in was rather small with low ceilings which limited him to horizontal swings. Still, it would suffice. There was no space for the prisoner to run on either side of the sword's reach, and nowhere to escape, only the dead end behind him or his cell. Fenris lunged forward, swinging the sword again and forcing the prisoner to back up a few more feet. Those golden eyes were racing, flicking up, then down, then side to side as the prisoner tried to work out some method of escape. Fenris was sure there was none; the only weapons the other elf carried were a set of daggers and there was no way one of those small blades could deflect a blow from his heavy sword.

Suddenly the prisoner lunged forward. Reacting more out of instinct than anything else, Fenris made another horizontal sweep, but the prisoner dove to the floor, just under the blade, rolling to a crouch just behind Fenris. With a startled cry Fenris tried to turn, but in a flash the prisoner had drawn a dagger from the strap across his chest and buried it in the back of Fenris's leg. Fenris went down, dropping his sword as the pain shot up his leg, while the prisoner bolted down the passageway leading out of the dungeon, leaving him lying there in agony.

* * *

Mahariel did not stay to see to the end of the strange elf with the white hair and glowing tattoos who had been guarding him. He doubted it would be long before the _shemlen _magister noticed the absence of his second apprentice. He ran up the stone steps leading out, leather boots making less noise across the stone floor than a human might have noticed, but more noise than he would have liked. He thought back to the words of the _shemlen_ bitch. The labs she mentioned must have been close to the dungeons, right? That would make sense, since it would be a convenient place to store – he shuddered at the thought – subjects.

And if she was anywhere, Shale would have to be in the labs, right?

Mahariel reached the top of the steps only to find himself at a fork. He'd thought that the exit would be right at the top of the steps, where the fledgling mage had come from, but he realized now that he must have been carried very deep into the dungeon when he was unconscious, and who knew how far this dungeon extended. He would never find Shale by wandering aimlessly through this place; he'd need a guide. For a moment he considered going back for the wounded guard, but decided against it. The man was stronger than he appeared – the ease with which he'd handled the large blade made that much obvious – and even if he weren't dangerous in that regard, travelling with a wounded guard would only make him a more vulnerable target. No, he'd need someone else. Someone weak, easily intimidated. A sound somewhere off to his left alerted Mahariel to danger. Quickly he pressed himself against the wall, hiding in the shadow cast by the pillar carved directly out of the stone, and waited. He worried a bit that his ironbark armor might reflect the torchlight, but the black tunic he wore over it minimized the reflection and kept him mostly hidden. It had been enough when he first broke in, but a more perceptive eye – like that of the man who'd finally noticed him before he'd been captured – might notice something slightly out of place.

A few seconds passed then ten, then thirty, one minute, then two, then five. No more sounds came. Cautiously, Mahariel stepped out of his hiding place, and started in the direction of the noise. Possibly he would find some fool to guide him through the complex; either that or some threat he would have to kill. Either way, it was the only lead he had. Mahariel continued on until he reached another fork. There were two paths he could take, straight forward, or down a separate set of stairs to his left. Closing his eyes for a few seconds he listened for another sound. At first, he heard nothing. Then he made out a faint voice, coming from down the stairs. He went left. Mahariel stepped down the stairs silently, dagger ready in his hand to stab the first person he saw if need be. At the bottom of the stairs he found himself in a round room, with five doors, each facing in a different direction. With a frown Mahariel found himself wondering if the sound he'd heard was a trick. He couldn't have heard so faint a noise from behind one of these thick doors. Just as he was thinking this, however, he heard it again, a voice. Ducking into the shadowed corner where the stone stairs met the floor, Mahariel listened, catching only the faintest snatches of conversation.

"… -quire… -tolen!"

There was a muffled sound from a second voice, speaking too lowly or too meekly to be heard properly.

"Not until… -ken. Other-… worse… -less."

More muffled speaking.

"I'll… personally. Watch…"

There was a muffled response, and then the sound of metal grinding against metal as the door directly opposite the staircase was slowly pushed open. Mahariel froze, even going so far as to hold his breath, as an elderly man with a tangled grey beard dressed in elaborate mage robes stepped out into the light. The man did not walk up the stairs as Mahariel expected – or rather, hoped – but instead turned in his general direction and began walking towards him. Still Mahariel did not move; he was coming closer but there was nothing on his face suggesting he knew of the elf's presence. One mistake too many spies or thieves made was giving away their hiding places too soon out of fear of discovery. The mage walked right past him and opened another door, not even pausing to glance at Mahariel's corner. As soon as the door slammed behind him Mahariel crept towards the center door. The mage had not closed the door properly behind him, and the other figure – the one with the meek voice – was standing on the other side with his back to Mahariel.

The third person, a common guard, by his appearance, stood oblivious as Mahariel crept up behind him, and thus was taken completely by surprise when a hand clamped over his mouth and a dagger was pressed to his throat. He attempted to scream but all that came out was muffled grunts which earned him the dagger pressing harder against his throat. "Quiet, _shemlen_, or I'll slit your throat." The muffled shouts stopped. "I'm looking for a golem. Small, with crystals embedded in her body. Is she down here?" The man shook his head. "Do you know where she is?" The man nodded frantically. "Good. Then I don't have to kill you. Yet." The man whimpered. "Lead me to her. If you scream, or try to run, I'll kill you and find someone else. The same goes if you try to trick me. Do you understand?" The man nodded.

Cautiously Mahariel released his unwilling guide. True to his word, the man did not scream, but he did remain frozen for a few seconds before doubling over and retching. Mahariel made a face of disgust, but allowed the man to empty his stomach fully before speaking. "Come on then, _shemlen_, I don't have all day."

Unsteadily, the guard pulled himself to his feet. With a shaky voice he said, "It's right this way. F-follow me."

The guard led Mahariel back the way he'd come and back up the stairs. He went right at the top, back the way Mahariel had originally come from, but past the stairway that led to the row of cells where he'd been imprisoned. The guard seemed to know all of the patrol routes and knew which way to go to avoid the other guards. Occasionally the pair was forced to hide in the shadows to avoid the odd guardsmen running late or 'escorting' a new prisoner. The guide kept true to his word, never trying to run to the other guards for help or alert them to Mahariel's presence. He had a sword, strapped securely to his waist, but for some reason did not use it. Mahariel regarded this with suspicion. Was the _shemlen_ really such a coward? Or was there some trap waiting for him where Shale was? He had better kill the guard as soon as he found Shale, just in case.

The guard led Mahariel to another wing separate from the dungeon. Mahariel knew it was separate because it was much more sufficiently lit, and there were faint runes carved or painted into the walls, suggesting some magic was at work in this part of the building. A set of rune inscribed double-doors separated the labs from the rest of the dungeon. Mahariel's guide pulled an ornate silver key – not unlike the one the apprentice had – from a chain around his neck and unlocked the doors, peering through them nervously before gesturing for Mahariel to follow. "We don't have to be so careful now. Master Danarius doesn't have as many guards patrolling these halls," he said, voice sounding much steadier. "But don't touch anything yet, not even the walls. A lot of things are warded."

Mahariel responded with a slight grunt and nothing more. He followed the human silently, feeling ill at ease. It might have been because of all of the magic at work nearby, causing him this feeling. He'd felt it before, in places where the dead walked, demons roamed, and trees and beasts had voices. Perhaps the magister had created a _Setheneran_ within his own compound.

The pair travelled straight, at first. Just as the guard had said, they met no other guards, or any people, for that matter. Mahariel's feeling of suspicion grew ever more powerful. Something was wrong. He was sorely tempted to kill the guard now, but he couldn't leave without Shale. Finally the _shemlen_ brought him to yet another pair of double doors. He unlocked this one much as he did the first, holding the door open for Mahariel. A fierce glare from the elf convinced him to enter the room first, staying always within Mahariel's sight.

The room itself was large, and very nearly bare. Three mirrors decorated the walls, one across from the door where they'd entered, and two on either side. A line of runes connected each of these mirrors, suggesting that they served some purpose beyond simple decoration. A single stone table rested not quite in the center in the room, but near, covered with all sorts of simple and bizarre-looking tools, all obviously with some arcane in nature. But in the center of the room standing inside of an intricately drawn runic circle was-

"Shale!" Mahariel cried, momentarily forgetting himself. The large, humanoid statue's stone eyes shot open, glowing blue orbs locking on the creatures of flesh before her.

"It? No, M-Mahariel?"

Shale seemed unsure of herself, and though Mahariel caught this, he was too relieved to find her alive – for lack of a better word – to pay it the heed he should have. Forgetting the guard, he stepped forward, past the stone table, to stand before Shale. Her brilliant green crystals had been replaced by ominous-looking black ones, and new runes had been etched around her neck and wrists, but otherwise she looked just the same as Mahariel had last seen her. He had no way of knowing, however, how to gauge her general health.

"I got a message – from a friend of Wynne's. I heard she'd died and you'd been… sold."

"This… all happened, but likely not in the way you think." There was something foreign in Shale's voice, something he'd only heard once before, when he'd gone to face the Archdemon. Worry. "You must leave. Now. I cannot… cannot follow."

"What?" Mahariel looked taken aback. "No Shale, I came for you and I won't leave without you!"

"U-um, Ser Elf… Uh…" the guard began nervously. "W-we, ah, shouldn't stay long. If you don't have your control rod-"

"It's not _my_ control rod!" Mahariel snapped angrily, rounding on the poor guard. "Shale does not have a control rod!"

"That… is not correct," Shale interrupted, cutting Mahariel off. He stared at her, a mix of shock and worry on his face. "The magister – Danarius – figured out a way to… reproduce the control rod. It binds me now as the old master did. As much as I would like to follow it – _you _– out of here, I cannot." Shale sighed, not needing the air, but enjoying the simple gesture that alluded to life. "I would be all too glad to grind that pompous mage into dust, but as it stands I have been ordered not to leave this spot."

Mahariel stared in disbelief. "But before… Caridin said you'd destroyed the old control rod on your own, with your own willpower. Can you not simply defy this Danarius's orders?"

"Perhaps, but I have no memory of how I broke free of the influence of my _old_ control rod. Maybe it took years of me fighting to gain my free will. Maybe I didn't do anything at all, but rather the demon kept in my old master's basement did. "

"U-um, we really should-"

Mahariel cut off the guard. "Then I'll steal the new control rod back and get you out of here. We can figure out how to destroy it later."

"You… would really go that far?" Shale asked, as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. But the look of determination in Mahariel's eyes was unmistakable. He would do what he said, just like always.

"I came too far already to just leave you here." He turned back towards the door. "I'll be back, as soon as Danarius is dead."

"Oh Maker…" the guard whimpered, trembling as Mahariel dragged him out of the room.

* * *

Fenris cursed silently as another wave of pain shot up his still-throbbing leg. Even with the lyrium in his blood knitting together the flesh and skin, and taking the edge off, each step sent agonizing pain through his calf and the lower part of his thigh. Worse than the pain, however, was the humiliation. To have a single, barely armed prisoner escape from right under his nose like that… Danarius would not be pleased. Not unless Fenris found the prisoner, and killed him first.

Unfortunately, such a task was easier said than done. The escapee left no obvious trail – no bodies or blood – and Fenris had no idea as to his motivation. It was entirely possible he had simply escaped, but that seemed unlikely. Fenris wasn't sure why, but he was convinced that the other elf had broken in for a reason, and if he could figure out what that reason was he might have a clue as to the other's whereabouts. It was entirely possible he was an assassin – he certainly had the skills required – and if so his most likely target would be with Danarius.

A part of him was hopeful this was the case.

But the stronger part of Fenris's mind – the more cynical, pessimistic side – knew that fate was rarely so kind and that even if the assassin were to find Danarius, his master would likely kill him mercilessly, before killing Fenris for letting him escape. He had to find the assassin – or his master – first; it was his only chance.

For over an hour Fenris wandered the corridors, searching for some trace of the escapee. The pain in his leg faded gradually, though the throbbing continued. Still, he found no sign of his quarry. With a frustrated growl Fenris stopped and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes for just a moment and tried to clear his head. He was going about this all wrong. He could wander the dungeons for hours and find no one. He didn't even know if the other elf was still in this part of the complex. He had to think like an assassin – or a thief, as the case may be. The elf hadn't said a thing in the entire time Fenris had stood guard over him, but maybe something someone said to him would provide some insight. He thought back to Hadrianna's visit. She had come with only the intention to gloat, but she did mention that might be of great interest to a potential assassin or thief; the labs. After all, as far as a stranger was concerned, a magistrate must spend the most time in his own labs, no? And if the intruder was not an assassin after all, but merely a thief, where else would he search for the most valuable treasures? It was as good a lead as any.

With an actual destination in mind, Fenris pushed off of the wall he'd been leaning against and began walking in the direction of the labs. They were quite far away now, as in his aimless wandering he had gone quite a ways in the opposite direction. He could only hope that if the escapee's goal was the labs, and if he had already accomplished his goal – whatever it may be – that they would cross paths before he escaped. Even if he had killed Danarius, he deserved to die for putting Fenris through so much grief.

Fenris ran into a few guards on his way to his master's labs. They all knew better than to bother him and most shuffled nervously out of the way at his approach. Not a one seemed to be aware of anything wrong, suggesting either the prisoner was no longer in this part of the complex, or he was skilled enough to maneuver through a complex crawling with guards without being seen. It would explain how he had been so difficult to discover in the beginning.

The tattoos lining his body began to glow faintly as he gained proximity with the labs, raw mana reacting to the lyrium embedded in his skin. When he approached the double steel doors barring the labs from the rest of the dungeons he knew that the prisoner was somewhere beyond them; Danarius never left these doors unlocked out of paranoia. Fenris's tattoos sparked and lit brighter, fueled now by his emotions rather than the mana emanating from the walls. He rushed through the doors, racing down the hallway lined with engraved doors. He wouldn't have time to search each and every room, but he wouldn't have to. His quarry had been foolish enough to leave the door open behind him, something Danarius would never do. All he had to do was look for an open door.

He did not have to look long, as it turned out. The intruder's target was clear; the door at the end of the hallway where Danarius kept his newest acquisitions. The door was left swung open wide, carelessly. Fenris barged in, finding a set of scrying mirrors, arcane tools piled upon a stone table, an odd, humanoid statue with black crystals embedded in its arms and shoulders, but no sign of the intruder. Cursing under his breath Fenris realized he must have missed his target. Clearly he _had_ been here, but for whatever reason had moved on. Maybe he would come back, but Fenris doubted it. The labs were not as widespread as the dungeons, but two people could wander them for quite a long time without running into each other. Fenris had thought he'd been lucky when he'd discovered the open set of doors right away, but he had no idea how long it would take to find the next one. His chances of success were looking slim.

Nonetheless, he would not give up. A small chance was still a chance, after all, and his life could very well depend on finding the strange intruder. Just as he'd turned to leave, however, a voice cut through the silence.

"Have you returned? Do you have the control rod?"

Fenris's body snapped into a fighting stance and he whirled around to find the source of the voice. The room remained empty, however, save for the bizarre-looking statue. Surely the statue hadn't spoken, had it? Cautiously Fenris edged towards the statue, to find that its eyes – or rather, the glowing white orbs that served as eyes – were wide open, and they seemed to be locked on him.

"Wait, this is not the Warden, nor the squishy magister." The statue's face looked odd as it spoke, stone seeming to bend and flex just as flesh did on a human face. "Well, what does it want, then? Either speak or close its gaping maw. Its dangling uvula is a particularly unpleasant sight."

Fenris's mouth snapped shut, though he was sure it hadn't been open wide enough for his uvula to be visible. He stared at the strange, stone creature in front of him for a moment, before processing its words. "You mistook me for another elf, didn't you? Did one come in here recently?" The statue huffed.

"I do not see how this concerns it at all, but yes, there was another elf in here recently."

Good. Now he was getting somewhere.

"Do you know where he went?"

"How should I know?" the statue snapped. "I know of nothing beyond this room. I know only that he intends to claim my control rod off of Danarius's corpse." Then, in a low voice, likely speaking to itself, the statue continued, "Oh how I would love to have the pleasure of grinding that magister into paste myself."

"A shame then, that you will never get that opportunity."

Ice water rushed down Fenris's spine at the sound of that voice. He turned to face his master, standing in the doorway directly behind him. The aged magister had a sly smirk on his face, as though the events within his walls served more of an amusement than an irritation. With his eyes locked on Fenris he said, "It seems my guest managed to escape, even under your watchful eye."

Fenris bowed his head low. "I apologize, Master, I-" Danarius held up a hand to cut Fenris off.

"I'm not interested in your apology, Fenris. Your punishment can wait until later. Right now…" As Danarius spoke he walked forward until he came to stand before one of his mirrors. He reached forward and skimmed his fingertips over the surface of the glass. The glass rippled as though it were a pool rather than a mirror, and when Danarius drew his hand away a scene from far away was shown in the mirror. "There are more pressing matters to deal with."

Fenris glared at the image in the mirror; the escapee, walking calmly down some far off corridor being led by one of Danarius's own guards. The tattooed elf made a note to slaughter the human first if he ever got his hands on him. Danarius did not notice his slave's frustration; he watched the intruder with a look of delight on his face.

"It looks like he's having too uneventful a journey, doesn't it?" the magister mused aloud. He held up his hand, thumb and middle finger pressed together. "Shall we send him a bit of entertainment?"

He snapped his fingers.

* * *

The _shemlen_ guard seemed to grow more and more nervous as the pair made their way through Danarius's complex. He had insisted numerous times in a trembling voice that he had no idea how to pinpoint Danarius's location, leaving Mahariel wondering if there was much of a point in keeping him alive any longer.

Mahariel opened a random door. The screeching hinges caused his guide to jump very nearly out of his skin. Finding only a demonic, corpse-like bear with overly large fangs and claws – a bereskarn – chained to the floor, Mahariel swung the door half-heartedly shut, not caring when it bounced against the frame and swung back open. The _shemlen _hung back only a moment for the sake of ensuring the door was properly shut before falling back into step behind Mahariel.

Suddenly the Dalish elf stopped, causing the guard to stumble clumsily so as not to crash into him.

"M-Messere?"

"Something's changed," Mahariel stated quietly, more to himself than the _shemlen _behind him. He didn't know how he knew _what_, exactly, had changed, nor what that something was. It was a bit similar to the sensation he'd experienced the few times he'd passed into the Beyond; like being submerged in sap, only the sap was vibrating, aware, _alive_. Slowly, he drew his dagger.

Without warning a plume of black, foul-smelling smoke appeared before him. Out of the smoke a legless, humanoid figure appeared with rotten, mottled flesh, and only two spindly limbs to speak of. Its twisted face held but a single glowing eye, which was locked on Mahariel hungrily. The shade's clawed hands reached out to him, and the guard behind him screamed. Mahariel turned sharply, finding the _shemlen_ sprinting away from the first shade only to be met with the awaiting claws of yet another demon, which tore into him instantly.

The first shade lunged for him. Mahariel lashed out with the dagger, slicing open its hand. The creature screeched in pain, but that would hardly be sufficient to stop it. The annoying thing about spirits and demons was that they had no single vital point to aim for. Swiftly, lest the shade have enough time to recover and strike again, he spun around and sprinted towards the corpse of the _shemlen_. The second shade screeched and lunged at him, but such demons were not particularly intelligent, and the second shade's movements perfectly mirrored those of the first. Mahariel plunged his small blade into the creature's hand, leaving it there as he weaved past the creature. In one swift movement he closed his hand on the hilt of the sword at the dead man's waist and spun, drawing the sword out of its sheath and across the bodies of the shades.

The creatures shrieked but were not yet dead. The nearer one lunged again, much as Mahariel expected, but much to his surprise the other did not repeat the movement. Instead it glided around him, attempting to flank him perhaps? Mahariel had never seen demons of equal strength work together like this before. Instinct taking over, Mahariel plunged his newly acquired blade clean through the first shade, swiping the sword to the side and cutting his foe in half. It disappeared in a spray of black mist. The second shade was on him in seconds. Mahariel held back a cry of pain as blade-like claws pierced the unguarded flesh of his right arm. With his left hand he snatched his dagger back from the creature's hand and shoved forward, driving the claws deeper into his flesh and plunging the dagger straight through the shade's single eye. It tried to rear back, but its claws were stuck. The creature began to panic, while Mahariel took advantage. He quickly shifted the long sword to his left hand and plunged it into the creature's chest with a ferocious snarl. The shade writhed and struggled, but Mahariel pushed against it, backing the creature against the stone wall. With a final twist, the creature went limp, and then disappeared in a puff of ash much as the first did, letting Mahariel's dagger clatter noisily to the floor.

Mahariel gasped and took a step back, using the temporary reprieve to catch his breath. A slow-spreading pain in his right arm reminded him of the shade's wound. He inspected the punctures, finding them already beginning to heal over. Becoming a Grey Warden had few benefits, but the increased regeneration rate was something Mahariel could not complain about. Wounds inflicted by demons always hurt long after they'd healed, but at least he'd still have use of his arm. He bent and gathered up his dagger, feeling more evenly balanced now that he had a blade in each hand. He attached each weapon to the ornate belt at his waist, looping leather straps around each hilt rather than properly sheathing them. Now if only he could get his hands on a bow…

A wave of the same odd sensation from before suddenly washed over him, causing Mahariel to tense. It had been slowly ebbing away since the second shade died, but now that dream-like feeling – as well as the _awareness_ – had returned in full and Mahariel found himself having the distinct impression that he was being watched. Determined not to show any sign of weakness, Mahariel steeled himself and continued forward, ears straining to pick up even the slightest noise. He half-expected more shades to appear out of nowhere. That's when he heard the roar. Unafraid, he turned to face his new attacker.

In hindsight, it might not have been a bad idea to kill the bereskarn when it was still chained to the wall.

The bereskarn pawed at the ground, eyeing the Dalish elf with angry, ravenous eyes. There was a tinkering sound as the metal chain hanging from the collar around its neck swayed. Mahariel stood his ground, assessing his situation. The demon-bear was much larger and more powerful than him, and clearly very hungry. Who knew how long the creature had been without a meal? He didn't have a company with him to help fight the creature, and as fast as he was he couldn't really hope to get in a lethal blow before the bereskarn overwhelmed him, so that left only one option.

Mahariel turned and ran.

The monster immediately gave chase, but it was large, lumbering, and weakened. This gave Mahariel more time to think. He studied the path ahead of him, the floor, the walls, the ceiling…

It was then that Mahariel realized that the runes lining the walls weren't simply painted on; they were engraved deep into the stone. And they ran up rather high, reaching nearly all the way to the ceiling. He knew what he was thinking was absolutely crazy, but the worst that could happen was he could be eaten alive by a demon bear. That would happen anyway if he didn't try it.

Mahariel turned at the next corner he came to, and in the few moments he was out of the bereskarn's sight he flew up the wall using Danarius's runes as handholds. The bereskarn rounded the corner seconds later and stopped. Mahariel always found it funny how rarely people thought to look up. Apparently, the same applied to demons. Slowly, silently, he drew his dagger from its resting place, holding the wall with only his feet and one hand. The bereskarn sniffed the ground, taking a slow, unsure step forward. He waited, the bereskarn took another step forward…

He dropped from the wall, landing solidly on the bereskarn's back. The demon immediately reared, trying to unseat its unwelcome rider, but Mahariel grabbed a fistful of its sparse fur, praying to the Creators that its rotted pelt didn't simply slip off of its body. He held his dagger high, waiting for just the slightest pause in his mount's movements, and when it came he drove the blade down, planting it solidly through the bereskarn's throat. The creature let out a cry of pain and bucked more violently than ever, finally succeeding in uprooting Mahariel. Mahariel hit the floor solidly but rolled immediately to a crouch, drawing his sword as he did. The bereskarn roared, and then lifted itself to its hind legs, ready to slam its claws down on Mahariel's head. Mahariel lunged forward, thrusting his sword through the creature's now-exposed belly. The tip pierced soft flesh and with a swift stroke and a spray of blood the bereskarn fell to the ground dead.

Mahariel tried not to pay too much attention to the entrails now spilling out over the floor as he wiped the blood from his eyes. He replaced the sword at his side before stepping through the blood and guts to retrieve the dagger. The small blade slid out of the bereskarn's flesh smoothly and Mahariel also retied it to his belt without bothering to wipe it clean of blood. His footsteps made an irritating '_squish squish_' sound as he stepped on the entrails, and he found himself wondering what, exactly, Shale found so appealing about _squishing_ things.

Fortunately the sound died down as soon as he was clear of the bear guts, so he no longer had to worry about anyone hearing him coming. Now if someone was _following_ him however… There wasn't much he could do about the trail of blood. He was still dripping with the stuff.

Then he felt _it_ again and realized that it neither mattered how noisy he was nor how obvious a trail he left; someone was watching him at that moment. This person had likely seen his defeat of the shades and the bereskarn and in all likeness was the same one who had sent them. It could only be one person. The Magister. _Danarius._

Mahariel just wished he knew _how_ he knew that.

Suddenly Mahariel became very aware of his surroundings. The corner he had turned to escape the bereskarn led straight to yet another set of double doors, though different from the others he had already passed through. They were made of what looked like polished onyx with glowing blue runes – lyrium maybe? – carved into the stone. Mahariel raised a hand to his temple as a strange buzzing assaulted his sensitive ears.

_Here, here, come this way! I have what you want, what you're looking for. Just come this way, do what I say, whatever I say, and you can have it, oh yes, whatever you want for whatever I say…_

The whispering on its own was irritating enough, but there was some odd…. undertone that made him want to listen, to just do what the voice said. But he was stronger than that. Whatever that voice was, he wouldn't listen to it. He would go through the doors, but because _he_ wanted to and not because he was told to. Standing tall, resolute, he walked forward, drawing the long sword in his right hand. When he'd reached the door he skimmed his fingers over the surface, finding the stone seemed to pulse and throb, and as it did so did the lyrium carved into its surface. It was very beautiful.

Mahariel threw the doors open, revealing a wide, high-ceilinged room that didn't look like any kind of laboratory. The walls were lined with statues of serpentine dragons all in fearsome poses, snarling and hissing at some invisible foe. Beyond the statues there was only one other bit of furniture in the room; an _eluvian_. Standing before the ancient mirror was a robed, grey-haired human with his back turned to Mahariel.

"Welcome to my humble abode." The human turned and faced Mahariel, revealing the bushy-bearded old man from before. "Arlathan Mahariel."

* * *

Fenris stood stiff and at attention next to his master, glaring daggers at the intruder, though the other elf – Mahariel, Danarius had called him – did not seem to be yet aware of his presence. Mahariel was staring at Danarius with a look of pure _hate_. Fenris found this odd; Danarius's blood magic should have rendered him a mindless slave by now. The only explanation he could think of was that Danarius had intentionally left Mahariel his free will, but for what purpose he could not fathom, though he did not truly care. At the moment he would have liked nothing more than to rush forward and cleave the smaller elf in two. Alas, Danarius had expressly forbidden him from taking any aggressive action toward the intruder until he gave the order. All he could do was wait for that order.

Mahariel stepped forward boldly, still glaring at Fenris's master. He held out his long sword menacingly and drew the other blade. Reacting instinctively Fenris placed himself between his master and the intruder. He placed his gauntleted hand on the hilt of his blade, though he did not yet draw it. Danarius chuckled.

"Now, now, my little wolf, stand aside. I have much to discuss with our guest."

Fenris growled under his breath, but stepped to the side, as his master commanded. His hand remained on the hilt of his sword, though. Despite Danarius's words, Mahariel did not look like he had any intention of talking; his blades remained drawn and he continued to scowl at the magister.

"There is nothing for us to discuss,_ shemlen_."

It was the same word he'd used to address Hadrianna, but Fenris, for the life of him, had no idea what it meant. He could only assume it was an insult, though in what language he couldn't say. Still, Danarius did not look threatened.

"You broke into my home, you killed my apprentices, you slaughtered my demons, and yet you have taken nothing. I think the least you could do is share a few words with an old man."

Fenris might have scoffed if it were anyone other than his master speaking. He found it odd that his master _was_ speaking and not simply using blood magic to control the intruder. Mahariel must have really caught his eye; grudgingly, Fenris found himself pitying the intruder. Still, Mahariel said nothing, approaching slowly as a predator does when approaching its prey. Danarius sighed sadly.

"Fenris."

Fenris stepped once more in Mahariel's path, this time with his blade drawn. Danarius continued to speak.

"If you've come for _this_," though his back was turned, Fenris could picture Danarius dangling the small, stone rod much the same way Hadrianna had dangled the keys before Mahariel, "I am sorry to say that I cannot simply relinquish it to you. However…" He could imagine the gears in his master's head turning, plotting and speaking simultaneously. "If you defeat my slave, you may earn it. For one who is able to defeat blood mages and demons alike, it should be a small feat, no?"

The lyrium beneath his skin pulsed. A blue glow emitted from the markings, washing over the room with its pale blue light. He swung his sword – a show of strength, not an attack – and allowed the blade to come to rest on his shoulder. He reached forward with his other hand, the claw-like gauntlet taking a ghostly visage, and gestured for Mahariel to come.

The other elf looked startled for only a brief moment, and then quickly regained his composure. He turned his body to the side, adopting a fighting stance. His golden eyes began to darken and change. They turned red. A red mist enveloped his hands and then travelled down to his blades. The mist became like a liquid coating, swirling around the surface of the blades, sharpening the edges. _Blood magic_.

Fenris knew the kind of hungry look Danarius must be fixing the other elf with at the moment.

With a ferocious cry, Fenris charged. The other elf met his war cry with a snarl, and charged forward to meet his blade rather than avoid it. Fenris started with a horizontal sweep. Mahariel paused while he was just outside of the sword's reach and then charged again. Using the momentum from his swing, Fenris turned the blade just in time to block a forward thrust from Mahariel's long sword. Mahariel spun and tried to slice through Fenris's side with both swords. Fenris blocked again and shoved Mahariel back. He lunged forward, thrusting the sword through the open air as Mahariel sidestepped the blow, carrying with the movement his dagger which he planted into Fenris's shoulder. Pain unlike anything Fenris had ever felt – in a long time – raced through his arm as the tainted blade sank into his flesh, but he refused to acknowledge it. His tattoos pulsed and with an angry cry he released a wave of mana that sent Mahariel flying back. Mahariel hit the ground hard, but was barely stunned. He rolled out of the way as Fenris's sword came down on the spot where he'd been seconds earlier. He rolled to a crouch a few feet away, holding out his long sword as a warning.

Fenris glowered, ripping the dagger from his shoulder and tossing it aside. It skittered across the stone floor, disappearing somewhere in the shadows that lined the room. Having come to a temporary standstill Fenris began to size up his opponent. Mahariel was wearing down, surprisingly quickly. The other elf rose to his legs slowly, allowing no sign of weakness to slip into this stance, but Fenris could see the thin sheen of sweat he was now coated in, and that his tanned skin had paled quite a bit. He was using too much of his own blood. Fenris had never known a blood mage to travel without thralls to fuel their spells, or to rely on blades for that matter. But he saw his advantage. Mahariel would have to finish him quickly or not at all; in a prolonged fight Fenris was the definite victor.

There was a fierce cry from Mahariel and he charged again. Fenris swung his sword where he thought Mahariel's intended path was. The smaller elf side stepped the blade and suddenly was much too close. Fenris felt the sting of the tainted blade against his throat. Instinctively his body pulsed with mana. His left arm, from the forearm down, became insubstantial and plunged into Mahariel's chest cavity, inches away from his heart. Both elves froze in their positions. Fenris could feel the pulse of blood against the skin of his neck, and Mahariel's heartbeat thrumming against his fingertips. All it would take was one movement from either elf to finish the other off. Whoever moved first would win. Fenris waited for the slightest movement, the slightest twitch from the other elf, but it never came. That's when he realized it.

Mahariel had frozen.

This fight was won.

All he had to do was crush Mahariel's heart –

"Stand down, my little wolf."

Danarius' voice shattered the silence that had fallen over the room. Slowly, reluctantly, Fenris drew his hand out of Mahariel's chest. There was the slightest intake of breath and Mahariel lowered his sword. His features were schooled into a look of pure hate. For the briefest moment his shoulders were sagged in defeat. Then he suddenly swung his sword upward, intending to impale Fenris. Fenris tensed, lyrium flaring to life under his skin. He only barely saw Danarius raise the stone rod behind Mahariel.

Before either elf could strike the other a pair of large stone hands wrapped themselves around Mahariel's biceps and yanked him back. The statue – or rather, the golem – had been located just beside the door so it was no surprise that Mahariel had not noticed it when he came in. Mahariel's blade clattered noisily as it hit the ground, blood coating spilling across the floor, and he struggled in the golem's vice grip despite its obviously superior strength.

"Shale, what are you-"

"You haven't forgotten that I hold the golem's control rod, have you little elf?" Danarius bragged as the approached the two elves. Fenris raised his sword to strike Mahariel one final time, but his master raised one hand to still him. He growled, but sheathed his blade, seeing as the other elf was now helpless. Danarius approached Mahariel, still struggling in the golem's hold, and appraised his lithe form. He was quite beautiful, but more than that, he was powerful, and unique. He reached out to touch the little elf's face. Mahariel growled and lunged forward, snapping at his hand. Danarius snatched his hand back just in time to avoid losing his fingers. "You should learn to behave little one."

"_Ar tu na'lin emma mi!_" Mahariel hissed.

Danarius sighed sadly. "Always the hard way." He raised the control rod. "Golem, teach him a lesson."

Fenris wasn't sure if he imagined it or not, but he could have sworn he saw a look of despair on the golem's face. Mahariel's eyes widened in shock as he was thrown to the ground roughly. He hit the stone floor with enough force to knock the wind out of him. The golem's foot came down on his back, grinding him into the floor. Mahariel gritted his teeth, but refused to cry out. Danarius seemed amused by this.

"Now, now, be gentle golem. I want him beaten, not crippled."

The golem lifted its foot off of Mahariel's back and reached down, lifting him off of the floor by the back of his tunic. It turned and threw him to the ground again. Then it raised its hand and brought its fist down on his prone form. Fenris turned his head, not wanting to watch, while Danarius drank in the sight. Fenris could hear the repeated thuds, and occasional grunt, but no cries of pain.

"Golem, hold him."

The golem knelt and pinned Mahariel to the floor with one hand. Fenris wasn't sure there was any point. With what little remaining strength he had left, Mahariel pushed his head up. Danarius knelt before him, taking his chin and tilting his head up. With his thumb he gently traced one of the two curved lines trailing from beneath Mahariel's lower lip.

"Now, don't you think it's time to start behaving?"

Mahariel snapped at Danarius again, only this time he managed to catch the magister's thumb in his teeth. With a cry of pain or surprise, the magister wrenched his hand back. Fenris shook his head while Mahariel smirked, obviously pleased with himself. Finally, he managed to get a scowl out of Danarius. With a frustrated growl the magister pressed the palm of his bleeding hand against Mahariel's forehead. Fenris closed his eyes against the bright light from the mana crackling from Danarius's hand in the form of lightning. He could hear a sharp intake of air, but not the scream he knew Danarius was looking for. Even through his eyelids he could see how the light intensified; Danarius was doing everything he could – short of killing him – to elicit one scream.

Suddenly, the light died down. Fenris opened his eyes and turned his head to the little elf still pinned to the ground. His head had slumped down once more, but he was breathing heavily, so he was still alive. Fenris supposed he must be unconscious at this point. He could see tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. Danarius stood, eyeing his newly acquired prisoner hungrily as he did so.

"Golem, carry him back to his cell," Danarius commanded. The golem growled under its – breath? – but scooped up Mahariel in its arms to do just as the magister ordered. Fenris watched the retreating form of the golem, and felt just a fleeting moment's pity for the other elf, before he squashed it – and every other passing emotion – down and returned to his usual state of neutrality.

* * *

(Author's Note: This is the first bit of inspiration in a long while I've been able to get into words. I don't currently have any intentions to continue this - it was only meant to be a teaser - but I will continue to write for it as long as the idea grips me. My sole purpose for posting this is to see how it's received. I may or may not make it slash - that is, assuming I get that far. If I did continue it I see it going in one of two ways: either Mahariel stays in Tevinter and launches a war against the humans, or he and Fenris escape - together or seperately, I'm not sure - and eventually come together in the Free Marches, where they meet the Champion of Kirkwall. I'm proud of its length. In the past I've only managed to squeeze out six or seven changes per chapter. A full eighteen pages is quite an accomplishment to me. If anyone can point out any grammatical/spelling errors I would be very grateful. I already know I'm a comma-whore. I would appreciate any help I can get.)


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